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Damn it. She was supposed to be done with him now!

Digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from reaching out for what she could not keep, Lorelei spun around and stalked onto her official bed without allowing herself to look back.

Behind her, as she descended with perfectly queenly grace onto her own, individual resting place, she heard the unmistakable sounds of his thick woolen trousers and belt slipping to the ground.

Lorelei dropped the last half a foot onto her bed of leaves with an embarrassingly awkward thump, but did not whimper.

Willpower. Self-control, she reminded herself and signaled the will-o’-the-wisps above them to fade out of sight and let darkness fall before she could lose both qualities entirely.

The new darkness should have provided a respite, but even as she lay in that lovely, leafy hollow that had felt so comfortable last night, her senses remained attuned with agonizing acuteness to the soft whispers of sound nearby that signaled Gerard settling into the neighboring bed of grass that she had created for them earlier.

He wasn’t even trying to join her. Of course not. Safely hidden by the darkness, her features drew into a mutinous scowl. Even after they’d made lo—no, shared a diversion—he was still too much of a gentleman to enter her bed without an explicit invitation.

… Which was excellent. Exactly what she wanted and what made most sense for both of them, regardless of all that sentimental nonsense he’d spouted earlier under the influence of his first diversion.

Goddess, but his arms had felt so warm and right around her.

Had she made a horrible mistake tonight?

Sleep didn’t arrive for hours.

She knew immediately that she was trapped in no ordinary dream.

Lorelei had lived with the breath of a goddess brushing the nape of her neck since the day she’d been born. She knew all too well the disorienting, overwhelming sensations that came with the glow of a divine being’s attention.

This time, though, it wasn’t her own, familiar goddess who had summoned her in her sleep. Any visit with Sylvana came with the vibrant scents of green, growing things all around her, warm wind caressing Lorelei’s face and new life coursing through her veins like liquid sunshine.

Now, she stood dwarfed by monumental grey statues in a vast stone hall with a hard, bright light shining down on her to pin her in place. Each flagstone was at least ten times the length of her bare feet; each giant statue portrayed a grim-faced warrior holding a shield and sword, bayonet or musket, in a seemingly endless line that marched far past the limits of her vision. Their styles of armor shifted along the way, along with the types of weapons that they bore, from the sleek modern weaponry of those closest to her to bows and arrows, lances, and then rough knives and clubs in the far distance, combined with wild, waist-length beards caught in stone.

But every face, no matter its surroundings, showed the same expression of noble determination as each warrior faced a terrible end without flinching, making themselves into walls between the innocent and injustice without any complaint—and when she turned slowly in place to look behind her, at the statues marching on into the future, the first one she saw lanced her with instant recognition.

“No!” Lorelei leapt forward.

Gerard did not—would never!—belong here, trapped in stone.

Yes, he projected an image of impenetrability to the world. That shield was all that most people would ever be allowed to see: the carefully built illusion that was the Golden Beacon. But she had seen the man beneath smiling and teasing her—and scorching her with his passion. He was no frozen object. He felt, deeply and undeniably.

There was so much more to him than the terrible, blank-faced statue that rose before her now, pinned forever on a platform of cold stone.

But oh, the uniform he wore on that statue was only too painfully familiar. She recognized the carefully recreated smudge that was a grass stain, not from tonight, but from a battle earlier that day. He clasped his own sword against his stone chest, along with the familiar shield he’d won in a tournament trial.

And his eyes …

Oh, goddess! Lorelei bit back a cry.

The rest of his expression might be blank, but his eyes held the bone-deep resignation of a man who knew his certain doom and had surrendered to it without complaint.

Lorelei had not—and she was done listening to common sense over the screaming of her instincts! Homicidal fury billowed up within her as she spun around in that vast, echoing stone chamber. Thorn-tipped green vines erupted at her command from the slim cracks between the flagstones, ready to take on even the most powerful of opponents.

She knew exactly which god had brought her here to warn her off His chosen champion. But Lorelei had been chosen by a different divine being, and she would not be intimidated.

“I don’t care if You think You own him,” she gritted through her teeth to the acknowledged head of the Imperial pantheon and the stern Divine Father of Justice and War. “I worship Sylvana, not You, and I will never let him go.”

She had made a nearly fatal mistake, after all—but it wasn’t in letting herself take such soul-shattering pleasure from the gorgeous, aggravating man who slept in her tent now. No, her mistake had lain in allowing either of them to believe that she would ever stand back and let Gerard walk away from her to certain death, no matter how glorious or noble it might be.

They’d struck a binding bargain when they’d first arrived in Efaelen: She would have to return him to the mortal realm in exchange for his participation in the tournament …

But she’d never said where in the mortal realm she’d take him. Gerard had only assumed that return would mean his freedom. Even Lorelei had spent long enough in the mortal realm, by now, that by the end of their second day of trials, she had decided to provide that freedom rather than lose her partner’s trust.